


The One With The Inconvenient Love

by Laure001



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:11:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/pseuds/Laure001
Summary: Carrie: My psy – sorry, life coach - says I’ve been single for too long. She says I should get out there, meet some new men.Quinn: What? Tell her to mind her own fucking ass.Carrie: It’s just… she says I have trust issues since Jonas... And I’ve got to get over him and believe in love again...Quinn: Love? Whatever.Carrie: Yeah, right?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SNQA](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=SNQA).



> This is inspired by SNQA prompt: “This should be the hottest, most intense, passionate and romantic sex you have ever written. It must convey the kind of love that Carrie Bradshaw describes in SATC: "Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't live without each other love."
> 
> I’ve totally cheated, and I’m not following the constraints at all. SNQA will hate me after reading this.
> 
> This is also a variation of my other story “The One with “Dar Adal has written the letter!” (chapter 8 of my series “Endings”). Just click on my name if you want to find it, but you absolutely DON'T need to read it first to enjoy this fic. It's the same story, the same things happen, but another way.
> 
> THANK YOU a million times to Leblanc1 for the editing!

_Season 6, New York, Quinn’s out of the hospital and doing perfectly fine, he created a firm with Rob. Carrie helped him through his recovery and they became super close and they’ve been friends for a year._

_When, one day…_

**

\- Quinn, I’m talking. See? My lips are moving. Would you pay some fucking attention to me, please? 

\- Will you shut up, Carrie? I’m working, Quinn grumbled.

And he was, answering mails furiously on his tablet, to Carrie’s growing exasperation. They were at Starbucks, having a nice breakfast, it was a nice day in New York, Peter Quinn was a nice man (well nice looking at least), so it should have been a nice moment, except the fucker was totally enthralled by his fucking screen. 

\- You know, Carrie added, her tone dangerous, when you’re having breakfast with a beautiful woman, you’re not supposed to ignore her.

\- It’s just my fucking accountant, he’s… Wait. (Quinn raised his head.) A beautiful woman? Really? Where? he added, looking around with an innocent air, and Carrie actually kicked him under the table, hard, and he chuckled for a good five seconds. 

She couldn’t help smiling, and stared at him for a moment (he was back on his e-mails), before saying:

\- Well, at least I know not to ask you for help with my assignment. 

\- What assignment? (He said, not even raising his eyes.) Sorry - it’s just - this man is a moron. Rob said we should fire him, but then we’d have to hire another accountant, and… Fuck. (He typed something again.) Fucking incompetent. You were saying – an assignment? 

\- Oh for God’s sake, Quinn, I just told you. I have to write a sex scene. I quote: “This should be the hottest, most intense, passionate and romantic sex you have ever written. It must convey the kind of love that Carrie Bradshaw describes in SATC: "Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't live without each other love."

Quinn put his tablet down. Stared at her for a few seconds. Then said: 

\- I’m sorry, what? 

\- Quinn, come on, I told you about it. Last week! It’s that writing workshop… It’s artistic, but also a new approach to therapy, blah blah, anyway, generally I love it, I like writing, but… I mean, what am I supposed to do with this? I’m not a romantic. 

He set down his donut on the napkin, slowly.

\- You’re not? 

\- Well… sure, yeah, ok, the Brody thing, I guess, Carrie sighed. I don’t know. Maybe I am. But “Inconvenient, consuming love?” Come on. “Inconvenient?” What does that even mean?

\- Right, he said.

He poured sugar in his coffee, and stirred. Carrie shrugged. 

\- Well, I’m glad I finally have your attention. I need help. I just can’t get started on this thing. It’s ridiculous. I mean, what am I gonna write? 

\- Why are they… What’s the purpose of the assignment? Quinn asked.

\- My psy – sorry, life coach - says I’ve been single for too long. She says I should get out there, meet some new men.

\- Why is it her fucking business? She doesn’t get to tell you how to live your life.

\- Well, she is a _life_ coach. But, yeah, right? I’m totally fine! (Carrie sipped some of her coffee.) I mean, there’s Frannie, and there’s you, and there’s my work… 

\- Tell her to mind her own fucking ass, Quinn shot back, and Carrie heard the odd aggressiveness in his voice and felt badly for the coach for a second. 

\- No, I mean, she’s really great, Quinn, I swear. It’s just… she says I have trust issues since Jonas, and I’ve got to get over him and believe in love again. 

\- Whatever. 

\- Yeah. 

Pause. 

\- Well, you’re so not the right man to ask, she added after a while. I suppose you never had a romantic feeling in your life. 

There was a silence. 

And there, their life crumbled. 

Their carefully constructed existence, safe and familiar and warm, and very, yes, convenient, just shattered, before them, in that moment. Because of that silence. If he had made a joke, if she had made a joke and moved on with the conversation, the pretense could have gone on for weeks, months, years maybe. But he didn’t joke, just looked at her for a second too long, maybe not even a second, a fragment of one, and she saw it. 

He averted his eyes, instantly. 

Too late. 

New silence. This one was tense, awkward, horrible. 

\- Well I’ve got to get to work, he said, standing up. I’ve got an accountant to fire. 

\- You always say that, but you never fire him, Quinn, Carrie said, trying to seem natural. Because I don’t think he’s actually incompetent. And also, he’s the only one who can stand you - you and Rob. Anyone else would have bailed. 

Another silence.

\- Yeah, he said, distractedly, and stopped there. 

He was gazing at the street, on the other side of the glass. 

\- Sure, he added. (He smiled. Coldly.) Have a good day. 

**

She almost called him 21 times that afternoon. It was a simple call button, all she had to do was touch it, it was just there, staring at her, all green and perilous. 

But she didn’t. 

She was so fucking scared. Our lives change so quickly, don’t they? Two seconds. That’s all that was needed to destroy a carefully woven truce, a solid bond of trust, support and friendship. She had been at his side in the hospital, she had supported him, yelled at him, he had yelled back, and then he was out and sleeping on her couch. And then he got an apartment and created this firm with Rob. Then, both of them – Carrie and Quinn - had created that closely knitted existence, where they both had their jobs and their lives and they were with each other all the time, I mean all the fucking time, five times a week at least and sometimes twice a day and they didn’t put a name on it. Friendship? Life partnership? Anyway it was great, and it was safe, and it was, yes, convenient, fuck you life coach, “inconvenient love,” come on, what’s wrong with convenience, honestly? 

And now, it was over. Carrie didn’t kid herself, didn’t think that they could salvage it. She had caught that look, and worse, he had seen that she had caught it. 

Her throat was tight, all day. She was terrified, all day. 

She hoped he’d text - she didn’t hope for a phone call, he wasn’t calling much at the best of times, so in a situation like this one, he would never - then to her surprise she noticed a missed call from him - except she had not left her desk, her phone was right there on the table - it hadn’t even rung - she visualized Quinn staring at his phone, like she did, and pressing the green and perilous button just to regret it instantly and pressing the red one. 

Maybe. 

Ok. Deep breath. She texted: 

*Still on for pizza tonight? Your place?*

*Sure.* was the answer. 

**

9 pm. Carrie was sitting on Quinn’s couch, no black dress, no tights, no heels. She had kept exactly the same normal average clothes, terrified of seeming… you know. And Quinn was standing at the opposite side of the living room, his back to the kitchen wall, could not have been farther from her if he had tried (and she was sure he had). Looking very smart, with his blue sweater and his jeans and his hipster glasses, oh yes that was a fine man, New York suited him. 

\- I feel a little frumpy, she said, with a forced smile. You’re all… sophisticated with your fake business casual and I’m… 

\- You look fine, he said, dismissively. 

They had not ordered pizza yet. She was not hungry. Her stomach was in knots. 

Silence, again. Then he began to look for olives in the cupboard… that took a loooong time, and he didn’t talk, he was clearly stalling, and it didn’t help to relieve the tension, at all. She was beginning to stress, her hands even slightly trembling, deep breath again, she had to find a way to… 

\- So how’s the assignment going? he asked suddenly, banging another cupboard door.

\- It sucks. I’m still not over that “convenient” thing, Carrie answered. I mean, how can love be inconvenient?

He was still rummaging. Plates clanged and stuff.

\- I can see how it could be, he said, after a while.

\- Really? How?

\- You and Brody, he explained, after a short pause. That was pretty inconvenient. If it was possible to choose, you wouldn’t have chosen him, right? I mean, you were a CIA operative, he was a terrorist. (Quinn banged the last door, turned to Carrie at last, no olives in sight, by the way.) That’s a good definition of “inconvenient.”

\- Yeah, Carrie said. I guess.

\- So what else? he added, crossing his arms.

Again, pause. She hesitated. Then:

\- I have a problem with motivation. 

\- Yeah?

\- In the story.

He was looking at her now. Really looking. She looked back.

\- I mean, those imaginary characters… It has to be their first night of sex, Carrie explained. Because it has to be “the hottest, most intense, passionate and romantic night of…” you know, whatever, so it has to be their first night. But that’s problematic. It doesn’t fit with the rest of the story.

\- Why?

\- “Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't live without each other love?” That’s an elaborate love story, Quinn. That’s people who know each other, who have known each other for a long time. And it doesn’t fit with this being their first time.

\- It can, he said, slowly. 

Silence again. Different from before, though. It was an all or nothing silence. It was a ‘your life can totally change in a fraction of a second – do you want it to?’ kind of silence.

Then the phone rang. They both jumped. Quinn looked at his phone. 

\- Fuck, he said. Sorry. It’s Rob. Yes, he then said into the phone, then: no. No. Of course I was polite to him. My e-mail was perfectly professio… No. Oh, come on! If he wants to quit, he just… Listen, can this wait? I’m at home with Carrie.

\- Are you fucking her yet? Rob asked, at the other end – Carrie had no way to hear.

\- Of course I’ll answer him, Quinn said. 

\- That’s stalling. So you’re NOT fucking her yet.

\- Sure, I’ll scan the papers, bye, Rob.

\- Why are you not fucking her yet? Go on that couch and fuck her, dammit.

\- Your input is appreciated. BYE, Quinn said, before hanging up. Sorry, Carrie.

Silence.

\- Where were we? Quinn said, after a while. Oh yes. Characters’ motivation. That’s always tricky. 

\- Sure.

\- But I can see it, he started again. The long relationship – and then the first night of… sex. 

\- How? 

\- They could be friends. They could have been, for years. 

\- Yes, Carrie answered, slowly. But what – what made them change? Their relationship, I mean?

\- Isn’t it a good idea… to try? To shake things up? Maybe they just wanted to try.

\- That doesn’t work, Carrie said. The story needs something stronger than that. (She raised her eyes, looked right at him.) I need something stronger than that.

Everything was so still. The apartment. The town. The universe.

\- Fine, he said, his tone perfectly indifferent. Maybe... Maybe one of them had been in love, with the other, for a long time. 

\- I guess… that works, she whispered. (Silence, again. They were totally immobile.) But then why… why… 

She stopped - he was not looking at her – and then he did, and he looked very serious, very guarded. Almost unreadable. _Maybe it’s all in my head,_ Carrie thought. But, no. Come on. _Come. On._ Of course it was not.

\- Why? Quinn repeated. Why, what?

Carrie had to replay the last dialogue in her head (“Maybe one of them had been in love, with the other, for a long time.”) to find the courage to continue. 

\- Why didn’t he… the friend… I mean… why didn’t he say anything? Before?

He was still staring at her, very coldly. _It’s not in my head,_ Carrie repeated, mentally. _Come on. It can’t be._

\- Maybe it was too dangerous, he answered.

She searched his eyes… nothing.

\- FUCK! she said, standing up, suddenly – she was trembling almost. Fuck, she repeated, how come he is… the friend is… so cold, all the time? So distant? If I was in love, she sputtered, if I was… I wouldn’t…

And suddenly he was crossing the room, he grabbed her – her shoulders – so tight – almost hurting her…

\- Because, he said, and he tightened his hold even more, grinding the words out. Because, of the fucking stakes, Carrie, ok? Fuck! Because… Because they have something good, something great, and… 

He let her go, rejecting her almost – in a violent gesture. Her throat was tight, she was ready to cry. Then he walked to the sink for some reason - she stayed there petrified, for a moment, then sat back on the couch.

\- Well, the other one, she said, after a while. The other character, she… she’s fucking scared to death…

He shrugged, with an angry look.

\- Oh, of course she is, he said. Not surprised. Fuck her.

He walked to the cupboards.

\- Well, enough literature, he continued. I fucking need to eat something. I know I have olives somewhere.

And then, bang bang bang, rummaging and banging the doors again.

Carrie’s hands were trembling. 

\- That character, she continued, and then she stopped, searching for words. I figure she’s intense. Because if they are not intense, both of them, the love story is not interesting, right? If it’s just... tepid.

Bang bang bang. Rummaging.

\- “Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, erm… feelings…” she said. That’s… passion.

Bang. He was not even pretending to look anymore. Just banging doors.

\- The character, she wants that, you know? Carrie whispered. She’s passionate, too. So she hopes that the other one… She hopes he feels…

BANG, went the last door. Quinn turned to her.

\- I’m hungry. Are we ordering pizza, or what?

\- S-sure. 

He took his phone, thumbs moving across the the screen in quick motions. That’s it? thought Carrie. _I miscalculated, or I was wrong._ Except she was not wrong. Come on. She couldn’t be. 

Quinn found the number, hesitated as he contemplated the green button…

… and threw his phone back on the table.

\- You want to know how love can be inconvenient, Carrie?

She didn’t answer – just stared at him. He looked so angry, still.

\- Love is inconvenient, Carrie, when you can’t shake it. When you’re in love with the wrong person. So fucking wrong that she’d let you die in a ditch when you aren’t useful to her. That’s the extent of her interest – but still, you can’t shake it. _That’s_ inconvenient.

Carrie tried to speak. Couldn’t.

\- Then you go and die for her… or almost… Very inconvenient too, by the way, and then things happen, fucked up things including sarin gas, and there’s a fucking twist of fate and suddenly you’re… _stuck_ with her, he finished, with such spite than Carrie began to cry, silently, tears just falling on her cheeks.

\- You’re stuck with me? she managed, but Quinn ignored her.

\- You’re stuck with her, but she still sees you as a friend, and that’s… (He stopped.) And still, still, still… you can’t fucking shake it. So yeah, Carrie. “Inconvenient” is the perfect word.

She couldn’t talk – he sat down on the couch, near her, he took her hands. They stayed immobile for a while, overwhelmed, conscious that the slightest movement would break any remaining defenses.

\- … I like that, she said, finally. (Looking at the cushions.) I like this motivation. It’s, erm… believable… motivation for…

His voice broke.

\- Stop it, Carrie. Just fucking stop.

He kissed her, at first just brushing her lips (”Just stop, Carrie”, he repeated,) then she kissed him back, briefly too, “Just stop, stop, just stop,” he repeated again, kissing her repeatedly, with despair, or desire, on the brow, on the face, on the lips, she tried to kiss him back again, but he stopped, their foreheads touching, he whispered:

\- Is that passion enough for you, Carrie?

 

 

(She had her assignment written for the next day.)


End file.
